


Spoiler: John Dies

by fujibutts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also kind of, Angst, Cameos, Character Death, Deathfic, Ending Relationship, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt without the comfort, I just..., I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, M/M, Misunderstanding, Sadstuck, Stealth Crossover, Terminal Illnesses, kind of, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujibutts/pseuds/fujibutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert. You love your boyfriend, you do! So, so much... But lately he's been a little distant. To top it off, you've been feeling a little sick lately. You hope you can get over it soon so you can get on with your life- maybe ask Dave what's been going on. Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If I Die Young](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9893) by TheBliindProphet. 



> I've been writing this for the longest time. It's taken up a lot of space in my little fanfiction notebook and ah, it's honestly not complete at this exact moment. It almost is, but not yet.
> 
> Disclaimer: Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

You hear a car roll past; a glance at the clock reveals the time: 3:23. Sighing, you make your way to the bedroom and crawl under the covers. About five minutes later, the door creaks open and Dave pads in for a change of clothes before departing for the bathroom.

By 3:45, the bed creaks beside you and Dave is there. You instinctively turn to curl into his side. An arm makes its way around your waist and pulls you close. Your nose wrinkles a bit; he smells like smoke, alcohol and cheap perfume.

When you wake up, Dave is still passed out. You roll off the bed and begin your morning ritual of making breakfast and getting ready for work; even though you worked for a 'friend' you were still an employee.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and while your bagel is in the toaster, you pour another mug for when Dave wakes up. Pulling a pad of sticky notes from the counter drawer, you jot down a quick note saying you'll see him later, punctuating it with a buck-toothed smiley face. Sticking that onto the mug, you bring it to the bedside table and lean over to place a peck on Dave's forehead before heading to work.

You arrive at Alternia, a local club/cafe owned and ran by a group of your friends, a few minutes before you're supposed to. Eridan sends a glare your way and clicks his tongue, "You're late."

Looking at your watch, you roll your eyes, "I'm five minutes early."

"Not early enough; therefore: late.'

"Sure." You mentally scoff at the high-maintenance man as you make your way to the piano. You hear Aradia humming her warm-ups and Nepeta tuning her bass- which she pauses to wave at you- and see Gamzee lazily licking the mouthpiece of the saxophone. You take a seat at the bench and unpack the sheet music from your briefcase, cringing at the suddenly very harsh lights that Sollux is trying to manage in the back. Out of the corner of your eyes you see Roxy and Tavros getting the bar ready for any mid-day patrons they might have. They always do.

People begin to shuffle in as you begin to play a soft tune, Nepeta works her way in, and Aradia's voice is resonating high and clear in the background. Gamzee jumps in with his own instrument, blending seamlessly with yours. It's a common combination- piano, bass, vocals and saxophone- but somehow, when you four play, the club is always full, even more so than when Dave, Rose, Jake and Eridan do their classical-techno thing.

The minutes turn into hours and soon it's your afternoon break. You bow towards the customers and quickly walk offstage behind the others. You quickly eat a late lunch and soon the four of you are back onstage.

A song you know well begins, and your fingers glide across the keys in time with Nepeta and Gamzee's instruments, as well as Aradia's singing.

Suddenly, a feeling manifests itself in your fingertips. The kind that happens when you're tired- where it feels like you're dragging a few extra pounds while moving your fingers. You bite back the sensation and continue to play.

A few songs later though; near the end of the set- the feeling comes back, and you stumble on a note. The patrons of the club don't seem to notice but Nepeta does. She shoots you a look and you shrug the best you can manage. You know what she was thinking though: ' _What the heck was that?'_

After your group's performance, you trade off with the next group. Before she goes on though, Jade corners you. "John, you stumbled up there," she says with a worried look.

You grimace, "You heard? Was it noticeable?"

She shakes her head and straightens her skirt, "You should take it easy John! You had pneumonia like a month ago for fuck's sake! We don't want you collapsing on us. You're our best pianist- other than Jane of course. But she prefers keyboards so I guess she's our best keyboardist?"

You chuckle dryly at her ramblings, "Nothing to worry about, Jade. I just went to sleep late last night. No biggie."

Jade frowns, "Well, when you get home don't stay up for Dave. Just rest, okay?"

"How do you know I stay up for Da-" her eyes narrow. "Fine! I'll sleep! That okay with you, mom?"

She smiles and pats your head, "Perfect."

When you get home though, you pop two Tylenols and settle yourself in front of your piano. That slip-up earlier was absolutely unacceptable. You don't care how much you sound like a stereotypical Asian father, but fuck. You are Jonathan James Egbert dammit!

You sit at the piano for a long time, working until you can barely hold your head up. A quick glance at the clock reveals a very blurry '10:47'. You've only been home for two hours... So why are you so tired already?

You sigh and pull the cover down over the keys with a sharp clack- and push the bench in. You stumble a bit but eventually make your way to the bedroom, collapsing on top of the comforter. You shiver at the sudden temperature drop- you just had to keep the window open at all times didn't you? Pulling the covers over you, you slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up again, you're under the sheets nestled against Dave. Your eyes widen and you shoot up once you realize it's way too bright to still be morning. You let out a groan as your head starts pounding like a particularly bad hangover. But you know you haven't had that much to drink in a long time.

Dave blinks at you and grabs your arm, pulling you back down. "Mm back t' bed," he grumbles.

You struggle against him, but there's a vice-like grip around your waist, holding you in place. "Called n' told Amp'ra. Gave us both th' night off," Dave says with a sleep-heavy voice coated in his rarely-revealed Texan accent. "Now back t' bed. M' pretty sure y'have a fever."

_A fever?_

"Just what were y' thinkin' sleeping above th' covers las' night?"

You just shake your head and close your eyes, simply happy with the concern Dave is showing. He's been pretty busy with work recently. Pulling the blankets up over your head, you cocoon yourself next to Dave, reveling in the warmth.

The next time you wake up, there's a cold pressure on your forehead and something is nudging at your shoulder. Opening your eyes blearily, you're greeted by Dave holding a bowl of soup and a spoon. "Wakey wakey. You haven't eaten all day."

You stare at him blankly and shake your head as best as you can without jostling the liquid ice pack.

Dave frowns and pulls the soup aside. He pulls you up and props you against a stack of pillows, "It's four in the afternoon. You haven't eaten breakfast, lunch, and the fact that the leftovers are still in the fridge all point to the fact of you not eating dinner. Now come on. Eat."

You shake your head again and lay back down, ducking your head under two of the four-pillow stack. "No!" you mean to shout, but it comes out as a pathetic whine at most.

Dave lets out an over-exaggerated sigh and pulls the covers up, settling in behind you. He pulls you close and rests his chin on your shoulder. "I'll feed you when you wake up again. You need food before you take meds."

You grunt, "Mm, whatever."

Dave scoffs and buries his nose in your hair, "I still have work later so I need to know you're okay."

You nod and roll over to face him, nuzzling into his chest and breathing in his comforting scent. "Don't worry, I'll be just fine."

When you wake up next, it's pitch black and Dave is gone. You feel even worse than before when you roll out of bed and shuffle out for some much needed water. With shaky hands, you're able to take a bottle of water and a box of saltines back to your room.

You've barely nibbled your way through a single cracker before you're jumping out of bed, muscles protesting, heading to the bathroom. You rip open the toilet seat and stick your head in. What little you've eaten comes back up, and you feel your stomach contracting in agony around nothing.

Tears well up in your eyes as you heave dryly into the toilet.

The sickening feeling passes after what seems like hours, and you flush the contents down the drain. You stand up, your limbs aching and stomach cramping, beside the sink. Flipping the light on, you groan at the sudden brightness. Once your eyes get used to the lights though, it's then that you can see just how bad you look.

And god is it bad.

Your hair is sticking up in all directions, and your face is pale- save for the dark circles under your eyes and your slightly red nose. Your sunken cheeks are flushed with exertion, and suddenly your mind flashes back to Jade at the club.

It really was just your luck to get sick after recovering from a bout of pneumonia.

Sighing, you turn on the sink and start brushing your teeth

You never do finish your food.

...

Like the day before, it's bright when you wake up. The only difference is that Dave is no longer there. Looking to the side, you spot a mug with an attached note written in red.

_at work_   
_ill see you later-_   
_eat egbert_

You sit up slowly and are thankful that the nauseating headache is gone, even though your muscles still ache. You grab the mug with both hands and bring it to your lips, sipping at the cooled coffee. By the time the cup is empty, you've decided to get up and actually do something slightly productive today. Or at the very least eat a late lunch.

Setting your feet on the cold hardwood floor, you stand up and wobble just a bit, a sudden dizziness overtaking you. You make your way to the little kitchen and grab a small bowl imprinted with Spiderman, fixing yourself up some nice cereal.

You manage to eat about half of it before your stomach gives a great big lurch and you find yourself at the sink, coughing up the contents of your stomach yet again. At least this time there actually is something to throw up and not just air. You step back until you hit the fridge and let yourself slide slowly to the floor, taking with you some of the ironic artworks Dave had stuck up there with flower shaped magnets.

You cradle your head in one arm and use the other to wipe at your mouth. Your hand feels wet, but you chalk that up to excess saliva, so you wipe it off on your pajama pants. You don't expect it to stain them with... _Blood_?

Your eyes widen and your head whips back, making forceful contact with the fridge door. You gasp in pain, but something in your throat is keeping any air from entering or exiting. You begin hacking into your hand, trying to expel the obstruction.

You claw at the counter, pulling yourself up to stand at the sink once more. Cupping the hand not at your mouth under the rushing liquid, you bring it up to your lips and take a drink to hopefully clear your throat.

This seems to help a bit, because soon you're retching into the sink, tears streaming freely from your eyes and over your cheeks.

Your eyes widen in horror when you see the chrome ink, red splattering the sides and pink going down the drain. There is a dark red squishy looking lump about the size of a chestnut lying near said drain. You dry heave again and stick your hand under the water once more, directing the flow first to your mouth (the water you spit out ends up being of a pinkish hue too) and then around the sink to wash the blood down the drain.

The blood is soon gone, but the smell seems like it's been imprinted into your brain. The room starts spinning and you try to take a deep breath, but the heavy stench of iron makes it worse. "F-Fu-"

You can't stop yourself when you start tumbling to the floor.

...

You open your eyes to a pitch black kitchen and the smell of your blood still hanging in the air. Your eyes dart to the clock on the microwave and reveal that it is almost midnight. You've been passed out for over seven hours. Sitting up slowly, you put a hand on the counter above you to hoist yourself up. Using it for balance, you make your way to the far wall and turn on the kitchen lights.

Thankfully none of your mess got on the floor.

Grabbing another bottle of water, you head back to your room. Once in bed, your stomach grumbles loudly, but you ignore it. Just the thought of food makes you sick.

' _Tomorrow_ ,' you decide. This is more than just a fever. Tomorrow you'll go to the doctor. While Dave is at work of course- he doesn't need to worry more about you.

Yeah. Sounds like a plan.

* * *

The hospital building looms over you, tall and intimidating. You take a step in and resist the urge to go right back out.

Nope you definitely do not like hospitals.

You sigh and head to the direction of Urgent Care, waving a quick hello to the nurse before taking out you insurance card, an ID, and some cash. You've done this enough times to know exactly what to do now.

The receptionist checks you in and waves you down the hall to a waiting room. It's small with a broken TV stuck on the blue analog screen. There is an almost audible noise from the speaker that hurts your ears. Great, you feel another headache coming on.

Soon a nurse comes out in green scrubs and gestures for you to come in. He takes your height, weight, temperature and blood pressure- all the usual stuff. He asks your name and birth date, more standard questions. You're actually surprised that you're still giving coherent answers.

"So what brings you here?" the nurse asks, undoing the Velcro from the wrap on your arm. You rub at the spot absently.

"Uh well, I've been feeling a little sick lately," you murmur, eyes glued to the floor.

"Hm," he stands you up and brings you to another room. "Please put this on, Doctor Jones will be out in just a minute," he states, handing you a hospital gown. You strip down and put on the gown, taking a seat on the examination table. The paper covering it faintly reminds you of the wax paper your dad uses to bake.

Your meandering train of thought is derailed when a sharp knock comes at the door. "Uh, come in?" you answer weakly.

The door clicks open and in steps a man slightly older than you. His hair is an ash-blonde and the brightness of his blue eyes rival your from behind his own pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. "Hi! Mister Egbert, is it?"

You almost cringe at his boisterous voice. "John is fine."

He chuckles and extends a hand that you take, "Well Doctor Jones, at your service! You can call me Alfred, though."

You let out a weak laugh as you draw your slightly smarting hand back. Damn he had a tight grip. He heads to a station in the corner, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "So, Nurse Kirkland said you came here because you were feeling sick?"

"Yeah, I guess I've been feeling really sick lately. I'm really tired and I get headaches.. I haven't been eating much these past few days either."

Alfred walks over and shines a light in your eyes. You recoil and squint, but you can more or less follow it. "And other recent illnesses?"

"I had pneumonia about a month ago, but that's it. I don't really get sick too much."

He hums, "Anything else? Anything at all."

You avert your eyes, biting your bottom lip as he sticks something in your ear to check your temperature again. By the time the thing beeps, you still haven't spoken. Alfred jots down something on a clipboard and turns to you, "You've got a fairly high fever, John. I'm honestly surprised you made it all the way here without collapsing."

He reaches for the stethoscope around his neck and brings it to your chest under the gown, "Take a deep breath."

You try to breath in- you do. But you find that you can't. He looks at you, "A bit deeper please."

You shake your head, "I'm sorry- I can't. It hurts."

Alfred pulls away and nods, hanging the tool around his neck. "I see. Is there anything else you want to add to your list of symptoms? It could be important."

You raise your eyes from the floor and look the doctor in the eye, releasing your lip from its place under your teeth, "I uh, I kind of collapsed last night. After I was coughing up uh, blood." your voice shrinks and you're reminded faintly of your bartending friend. Your eye dart back down as he writes more things on the paper.

"Well that certainly is a big thing. I can't form any sure diagnosis right now, so I'm going to have you schedule an appointment with Mr. Braginski over in reception so we can run a few tests." He finishes off by jotting something down in scribbly writing on a sticky note and handing it to you. "See you soon, John. Hopefully we won't have to do those tests after all."

You nod and wave goodbye before he exits the room and you change into your clothes again.

The drive home is a little unsettling, you're a little paranoid about falling asleep or fainting at the wheel- but you eventually make it home unscathed. You eat a miniscule piece of toast and pop two Tylenols before you hurriedly get dressed for work.

Fuck- you missed work the other day. Eridan's going to have your head.

...

" _Hello John?_ "

"Yes?"

" _I'm sorry for the short notice- but I've decided from your symptoms that it would be best if you come in for a few tests. Though they do call for you staying the night here at the hospital._ "

Your heart skips a beat. Just what kinds of tests were they planning on doing on you? "Uh, sure. I can do that. When?"

" _As soon as possible. The operation_ -" Operation? "- _will take a few hours- it's not heart surgery or anything, a lung and kidney biopsy will do. Recovery's going to take a day or two though, so plan on taking those days off from work unless it's absolutely impossible that you can't._ "

"Of course, I'll talk to my boss.. I just have to settle a few things, but I'll be there tomorrow."

" _Yeah- take your time. Thanks for your cooperation, John!_ "

"Yeah, thanks."

You press the end button on your phone and pocket it- only to take it out again and clock on speed dial 2. While waiting for the call to be picked up, you look around at your apartment's living room area.

When you first moved in here with Dave, you knew it was going to be amazing. But what with your sudden illness and Dave's constant shifts working over time... God- really. Who even worked that much? You've known him for years and Dave was never one to put much effort into anything that didn't interest him. And with how irritable he's been lately...

Sometimes you wonder if he's just using work as an excuse to-

" _John?_ "

"Hey Dad," your voice comes out as nothing but a whisper at most.

" _John? What's wrong son?_ "

"Noth- well, something." You glance toward the open door of your bedroom, where Dave is lying asleep after a night of 'work'. "I'll tell you when I get there. Do you think it would be too much of a hassle if I stayed with you for a few days? A week at the absolute most."

" _What? Of course son. You aren't having any problems with Dave, are you?_ "

"No- no. Nothing like that. Look, I'll tell you when I get there, okay?"

" _Fine. When can I expect you?_ "

"Later tonight?"

" _Okay then,_ " he sounds a little suspicious, pausing before adding as quick " _bye son_."

"Bye dad, see you later."

Click-

You take a shallow shuddering breath. You have to leave. Just what were you going to tell Dave? Should you just talk to him? Or should you sneak out and leave a note? No- that sounds shady. Augh- whatever. You'll deal with him when you get to that point. Right now, you need to pack.

Making up your mind, you head to the room, staying as quiet as you can to start putting things into your bag. You take clothes, your wallet, laptop... Would the hospital need your medical records? Or do they have those there? They're around here somewhere... You're pretty sure Dad has a copy. You'll bring them though, just in case.

Once finished, you sit back and relax. That took way more energy that it should have. You decide to lay down next to Dave for a bit- at least until he wakes up again. Calling Eridan can wait a little while longer.

You snuggle into his chest and let out a long heavy sigh.

...

When you wake up, it's late afternoon and Dave's looking at you. His eyes look as tired as yours- with dark circles and bags around them. His smile looks a little too forced too. You hope your grin doesn't look like that.

"Hey," comes his voice, creaky with sleep.

"Morning," you smile a bit and scoot up to kiss him quickly on the lips. He doesn't return it with much enthusiasm.

"Fuck- today's my only day off. We've both got work tomorrow..."

Your heart skips a beat. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Right. You've got to tell him. But how? Should you say you're leaving for a family reunion or something?

"O-Oh, I'm not going tomorrow."

"Why not?" his eyebrows wrinkle together.

"I uh- my nanna." Okay, good start. "She's sick." Better... Go on? "My dad wants to fly over and spend some time with her."

Dave frowns, "Do you want me to come?"

Shit. You didn't think of the possibility that he might want to go with you.

"Nope," you reply a little too quickly. He raises an eyebrow, and you continue, "It's no biggie. You've got work! I'd rather not get in the way of it."

The frown softens as he runs a hand through your hair in a rare show of tenderness. You miss when he used to do that all the time. "Fine. How long for?"

"About a week. Three or four days at the least."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomor- and you're just telling me _now_?"

You flinch. You hate lying to Dave. "Sorry... I'm leaving for my dad's house tonight."

He catches your eyes, and blue clashes with red for a tense second. "I'm taking you." There's a hard sort of tone to his voice and a determined look in his eye that won't let you say no.

What's the harm in letting him drive you to Dad's? It's only like an hour away. "Okay. After dinner."

It's almost sunset by the time you two get on the road. Your backpack is on the floor and your PDA is on your lap. Your fingers tap away on the keys. forming a message to your dad.

_we're on our way, be there in about an hour._   
_i told dave i was visiting nanna with you._   
_please play along and i'll explain when he leaves!_

You really don't expect him to receive it- much less reply; but the text comes barely two minutes later.

_okay son. i'll see you then. i've got cake if dave wants to take some home._

Breathing a sigh of relief, you settle back into your seat, arms reaching out to lazily play with the hand Dave wasn't using to steer. You pull it towards you, pressing it to your face and placing a light kiss to his palm. "Thanks for bringing me," you murmur.

Dave grunts in reply, still entirely focused on the road. "Yeah."

...

"Bye Dave thanks for bringing me."

"No problemo man."

You hesitate, biting your lip before pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you."

He's silent, but brings a hand up to run through your hair. "I know. Love you too," he whispers, before placing a kiss on your forehead. "Be good."

"I will."

Your goodbye lasts a few more minutes, and almost has you crying by the time Dave leaves.

No. Stupid.

You're not dying. You're just going in for some tests.

Not dead yet.

Yet.

As you close the door after Dave, the click of the lock seems to reverberate around the room. Silence.

Your dad stands behind you, clearing his throat and giving you that look. The one that makes him look like an old-timey mafia member with his fedora and rolled up dress shirt sleeves. He chews almost impatiently on the mouthpiece of his pipe. "Do you mind telling me what's going on now?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

You look guiltily at the ground, rubbing at your arm. Wow, when'd it get so hot in here? "Dad..." you breathe, shifting your eyes to look up at him."I-I'm sick."

" _Sick_? With?"

"I'm not sure. They want me to come in for testing..." Your eyes clamp together as you grit your teeth. "I'm sorry."

You feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders, pressing your face into heavily starched cotton- stiff and scratchy, but at the same time soft and familiar. Just so Dad.

"Son..." he hugs you tighter, "Why didn't you tell me sooner? And don't say you're sorry. This isn't your fault."

"B-But I wimped out. I'm an adult. I'm supposed to take care of myself. Instead I called up daddy when things got hard. God I am waste of space. It is me."

Dad pulls away, holding your shoulders at arms length. He gives you a different look this time, one that doesn't seem quite like a glare, but isn't soft either. "Jonathan James Egbert. Stop right there. If I somehow taught you to think that way, then I am by no means a fit parent. Son you are not a waste of space and don't you ever say or think that again."

"Bu-"

"No buts. Now go to your room and rest. I assume we're going to the hospital tomorrow?"

You nod.

"We'll leave after lunch." He pulls you in for another hug and places a kiss to the crown of your head- like he used to when you were younger. "Call me if you feel anything okay?"

"Yeah, thanks Dad."

With the help of two Nyquil you manage to fall asleep without too much trouble. You do end up waking up every four hours after the medicine has worn off; and when it's time for you to leave, you look and feel horrendous.

"It's Tuesday, you fat nasty trash..." you say with a half hearted smirk before sip your coffee.

"Hm?" Dad asks from his spot behind the counter, finishing up his own drink.

"Nothing."

A few more moments are spent in silence before you hear the click of a mug being placed in the sink. "I'll take your bag to the car. Come on down when you're ready."

You shake your head and gulp down the rest of the coffee. "No, I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

Smiling, you hoist the backpack onto your shoulder, "Yep- let's go!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been like two years ,, ,
> 
> "I'll post the second chapter up in a week at most"  
> hahahh better late than never

You're not sure how long you were out, but you're sure it's been somewhere close to half a day.

You got to the hospital and they settled you into a room right away- giving you instructions to prep yourself for surgery, meaning a strictly water diet and no medication. You fell asleep after convincing Dad it was better for his health to stop worrying and get a motel room a just a few minutes away. You told him he could come back after the lung biopsy.

You blink away the sleep, gaze roaming around the room. Your side is a little sore, but it's nothing unbearable. You've got the kidney biopsy after just a day of recovery after all.

Smiling a bit, you bring a hand connected to tubes up to shake your father's shoulders a bit. "Dad, wake up, you half-whisper with a hoarse voice.

"Wha-" his head snaps up, looking around frantically before relaxing. "You're awake! So how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"Water, please."

He nods, standing up and stretching to grab the pitcher of water by your bedside.

You take the water gratefully, gulping half of it down before your throat locks up and you're left choking. Dad jumps up and starts rubbing your back, patting it as if he was burping a baby.

The coughing subsides and you settle back. Dad pulls his hand away and looks at you warily, "Are you sure you're okay? I can go call a doctor if you need."

You shake your head, "No, that's fine. I'm okay. Go to sleep."

Dad frowns, "I'm not taking any chances. I'll stay up and make sure you don't get any worse."

You groan and frown, but you just don't have the energy to argue. "Fine," you grumble, settling back under the white sheets.

Sleep comes easily to you.

* * *

 "What's Goodpasture's Syndrome?"

You can hardly believe your ears. You came in for a cough- maybe a bit of blood mixed in with the mucous; you were expecting an overly irritated throat that was too scratched up to heal without a bit of health. Not some disease.

"It's a condition that damages your kidneys and lungs. It can cause hemorrhaging- that will explain why you were coughing blood. Symptoms include fatigue, dry coughs, weakness... Basically when it first starts, it looks like a bad cold." He pauses, scanning you and your dad's faces. "Don't sorry, it's completely treatable. Therapy can take anywhere from one to six months though."

Six months?

"What's the mortality rate?"

Your eyes snap to your dad, "Dad! Why would you say that?"

He frowns, "Son, we need to know these things."

Alfred blinks at the two of you before smiling softly, "I know that it sucks getting news that you have a disease in the first place, but it's safe to say that the morality rate is under twenty percent."

Your dad lets out a sigh, "That's a fairly large chance... But okay. John, do you want to go through with treatment?"

You nod. This means you'll have to be gone for a while.

A long while.

Possibly forever.

"What about the relapse?" comes your voice before you can even think about it.

Alfred blinks, "Well, there's always risk of it coming back.. I'll have to say somewhere between eleven to fifty-seven percent chance of it coming back."

Oh.

You nod, "I understand," you do understand. You've never been the best of health so you know what might happen. "Just give me a week to sort things out."

...

"W-What? W-What do you mean you're leavving?"

"I'm sorry Eridan, it's just for a month or so while I get some family stuff sorted out. I'll come back in like four months at the most!"

"Four months?"

"I'm really sorry Er! You can... You can replace me if you really want to though, I'm not really in any place asking you to save my job for god knows how long."

"But that's it- w-we can't replace you! You're our best pianist!"

"What about Jane?"

"Your styles are different and you know that full well Egbert!"

"I'm sorry."

CLICK-

Well, there you go. The last thing you needed to do.

You got home about two days ago and acted as normally as you could. When Dave left for work earlier today, you started packing your clothes, and any of your other possessions You needed to erase your presence from this place in the event that you... Don't return. Even if you do make a full recovery, things aren't going to be the same with you and Dave, what with his constant absences as of late. You meant to talk to him, actually, before all of this happened.

When you first moved in here with Dave almost two years ago you were adults- out of college and ready to take the world by the balls. You never would have thought you'd be leaving like this.

One large suitcase and a backpack hold all of your personal effects- plus your favorite one of Dave's shirts. It's always been a little big on you, but you just couldn't bear to part with it.

With one last look back, you smile sadly and lock the door. Wouldn't want to keep Dad waiting.

* * *

 Your name is Dave Strider and damn are you tired.

One wouldn't think that flipping burgers or working the register would be this tiring, but it is. You've been raking up the hours from cooking patties at Mickey D's, and DJ'ing at Alternia, as well as any other gig you could snag around town. You barely spend an time at home- and when you do, you're usually asleep. But it's all totally worth it though because every night you get to come home to your one and only boyfriend and 'best bro 5ever': John Egbert.

Sure you feel bad for leaving John on his own a lot, what with him being pretty sick just a month ago, but this is all for him, after all.

See, you and him have been together forever- like two, almost three years. Even more if you count the time you spend as 'just platonic no-homo boyfriends'. You've lived together since college and when you graduated, you ended up pooling your money along with a group of friends to buy a small club downtown now the ever popular Club Alternia.

You love him- that's obvious; literally everyone you know, knows that piece of information. The thing they don't know yet though, is your plan: your plan to whisk Egbert away to a nice little townhouse close enough to the city to commute to work daily, but far enough to constitute as 'quaint' and... Well, marry him.

Yeah, you're planning to take him out somewhere romantic, wine him, dine him, then get down on one knee... The whole shebang.

To do that though, you need cash. By no means were you two struggling with food and rent, Alternia took care of that. But your plan isn't exactly something you do every week. So you picked up a job at the fast food kingdom, as well as started advertising your skills to other clubs (with permission from Eridan of course. Wouldn't want him to think that you were going to betray the club. Alternia was still your main deal). Anything to bring in a little extra dough.

Sighing, you stick your key into the lock and turn it, effectively opening the door and making your way inside. It's dark, and quiet. John's probably asleep. He's been doing that a lot recently. He had a fever like a week ago, but he's been saying that he's fine... You should tell him to get it checked out soon.

You drop your keys and phone onto the coffee table by the door and shuffle into the bedroom to grab some clothes. When you finally exit the bathroom after a nice got shower, you get into bed. You find it a little weird that John doesn't curl up to you like he usually does, but you pay no mind; instead falling asleep instantly.

In the morning, you wake up bright and early for work, just like every other morning. Usually it would pain you to let John go, or to pry his arms from around you, but you have to. It'll all pay off, right? Speaking of John.

You turn to your side, expecting to be greeted with a face full of perpetually messy hair almost the exact opposite color of yours, and the sleeping buck-toothed Egbert you love so much. You come up with nothing, though.

Shooting up, you look frantically around the room, expecting to see him there. You don't.

The door to the closet is still open, and you can see from where you're sitting that it's a lot less cluttered than the last time you saw it. Practically ripping the sheets off of you, you jump out of bed and swing the closet door open.

No, it's not clean. It's half empty.

What.

Running out of the room, the first thing you see is the stand next to the TV glaring at you, completely devoid of John's shitty DVDs. Shaking your head, you step across the hall to the other room- the makeshift studio you and John constructed when you first moved in. There it was (or wasn't, really), mocking you. The section of the room dedicated to John's small upright piano, sheet music and CDs- completely barren.

"What the hell."

You practically flash step to the entrance, where the coffee table was with your phone. You grab it and scroll through your contacts. You find John's name and almost punch a hole through the device in your haste to call him. It doesn't go through though, because it sends you straight to voicemail.

Groaning in frustration, you go to your next best bet: Jade. Apparently she wasn't a good enough bet because she doesn't know anything, or so she says.

You spend... A lot of time ground through your contacts, learning nothing but the fact that John called Eridan last night to take some time off.

You end up on the floor with your back up against the food, trying to keep your breathing steady.

John's gone.

John left.

Why?

Raising your head, you blearily look around the room. It feels so empty. How the hell did you not notice last night?

Pressing the home button on your phone, it tells you that it's been three hours since you called Jade- and that you've got another two hours until the gig you scored at a joint on the other side of town. You're about to turn it off and head to take a shower (what's the point? If John's gone then why should you put any effort into... Well, anything?) when a blinking symbol in the top corner of the screen catches your eye.

You click a few buttons and end up on voicemail. "You have one new message," says the automated voice, "left at 11:43pm on..." but you drown it out. Eleven? That's when you were at work.

You're snapped out of your train of thought when you hear a familiar voice. Except now it's quiet and... Sad.

"Dave," John half whispers, "Dave I'm saying this once and only once. D-Do'nt call me. Don't look for me. I'm leaving, o-okay? I'm staying somewhere else for a while, just... I might come back to Alternia but please, please do anything. I don't- I do'nt want to see you anymore. Don't try to contact me, because I've changed my number. I can't be with you anymore. I'm sorry but goodbye, Dave. Have a nice life."

CLICK-

The fuck.

* * *

 Your name is John Egbert. You have a disease. The doctor told you that there was an eighty percent chance of success with the treatment, but you've never been of the been of the best health, even when you were a kid- so you had to factor that in. That brought down the percentage to seventy-five. Still, a three-quarters chance that you would make a full recovery within a year. Then maybe... Maybe you could work things out with Dave, and get back to your regular life?

Haha, you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. About a month into therapy, it was clear you weren't going to get any better. You were given a year at the absolute most, but you knew you could drop at any moment.

You called Eridan up almost immediately, asking for your job back. You warned him that you might not be there for long, but you could do it for half of your original pay.

You just want to pay Dad back for all he's spend on your medical bills. Even if it's just a little bit.

He agreed, and you joined up with your old group. It was really nice having some semblance of normalcy in your life again.

Everyone was so nice to welcome you back! And if they wanted to comment on your... Well, unhealthy appearance, they definitely kept their opinions to themselves. Of that, you were very grateful.

It worked for a good two or so weeks. Today you felt a little nauseous, so on your break, you went straight to the bathroom.

So far you've been lucky. You haven't seen Dave once. You hope to keep it that way until you leave for good.

* * *

 Your name is Dave Strider and boy do you feel like absolute shit. Well actually, what's new?

John left like a month and a half ago. That day, you broke down. Since John was gone, what was the point? You quit your jobs and cancelled all of your side gigs- only keeping Alternia. You actually had work that night, but you didn't bother. You did eventually pick yourself up and grab a bottle of southern comfort before passing out on the couch.

You've never ever been one to drink away your problems, but you just couldn't think of anything else to do. With how abruptly John left, you were shell shocked. The first few days alone were a cycle of drink, sleep, bathroom, double (sometimes triple) dose of painkillers, rinse, repeat.

You admit it was hell, but within three or four days of not contacting anyone, Rose and Jade stepped in and helped you get back on your feet. They convinced you to shower and eat, go to work and even hang out with the others.

Though, as cliché as it sounds, you still felt empty.

Tav and his sick fires, Roxy's drinks, Jane's cookies... Terezi dragged you to the dog park with her to do some chalk art and hang with her black lab WV. Dirk even tried to beat some sense into you at some point.

None of it worked.

You functioned more or less 'normally', but it was all robotic. You just couldn't be without John. He was too big a part of you.

He still is.

So here you are, almost two months later.

You come to work early now, a little after the group before you takes their mid-set break. You started taking other gigs again too. The less time spent in your empty ass apartment the better.

Tonight, the group that usually took this shift couldn't make it, so your group was called in to play.

You came in to see them just walking off stage- them being John's old group. You could've sworn that you saw a flash of black hair and a green-teal suit- what John used to call his Wise-Guy Suit.

Sighing, you head backstage to drop off your stuff before deciding to go to the bathroom to wash your face- maybe cool off a bit. You were probably just tired again and your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Yeah, they had to be.

John isn't coming back.

You quickly walk back to the front and to the side, waving a quick hi to Tavros who looked a little overwhelmed working the bar by himself. You allow your lips to part for an almost inaudible amused chuckle before going to push the door open. Your hand meets air though, when someone pulls it from the inside.

Catching yourself before you stumble forward, you hold up a hand; "Sorry ma-" you freeze when you realize that the person in front of you isn't Jake.

It could've been a split second, or five minutes. All you know next is that John gasps and slams the door in your face.

You stand there in shock before regaining your senses. You begin shouting and banging on the door. Thankfully the bathrooms were far back enough into the building so you wouldn't cause any scenes. It snaps open and closed, but John still seems to be holding strong.

Getting tired of this quickly, you step back, gathering your strength before charging in. You burst into an empty bathroom, John nowhere to be seen.

"John! Get out here!" you shout. You begin kicking at the stall doors. They all fly open except for the one at the end. "John fucking Egbert stop running away and face me like a man you asshole!"

Still there is no response save for some heavy breathing from the both of you. Groaning in frustration, you get down onto the ground and army crawl your way into the stall. He backs up against the back corner, watching you with surprise.

He obviously didn't except you to resort to crawling.

You straighten up, and he shrinks in on himself a little bit more. "G-Get away from me," he says with a shaky voice.

You shake your head and corner John, pinning him against the intersection of two walls, between your arms. "Not gonna happen Egbert. We need to talk."

He lets out a whimper and rubs at his eyes, "Please Dave. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wa-wasn't supposed to see you!"

Your brow furrows, "What the hell are you talking about? You felt guilty that you fucking ran out on me for no god damn reason?!" You're not quite sure when it happened, but your hands have moved to his collar, pulling him up to his tip-toes. "Look at me!" you practically scream.

He lifts his head, glaring with bloodshot eyes at a point somewhere above your right shoulder.

You can't help but gasp a little bit. He's pale- sickly pale. Even with his glasses, there are noticeable dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes. He's a lot lighter than you remember, too.

Easing up a bit, you set him back on his feet.

"...I didn't think you'd care that much."

"What?"

"I didn't think you'd care."

"How?" You don't believe this one bit. He's not making sense! How the hell could he thi- what?!

He goes on though, tone strong and firm- but his vocal cords don't seem to be able to keep up with his brain's demands. "You didn't seem to care that much. You were preoccupied."

"Well no shit Sherlock I was preoccupied! It's called work!"

His brow furrows, "Are you sure Dave?" he outright glares at you, hissing his words. His chest is heaving and the color in his face is returning, tinting his cheeks a dark red.

It's way too hot in here, you think. Tempers are flaring way out of control and you know that this isn't going to end well.

"Of course it was work idiot! What the fuck do you think it was!? You're the one who never talked to me- jesus fuck what's wrong with you?!"

He grunts in response, and begins clawing at your hands until you relent, releasing him a little too roughly so that he's slightly off balance. John steps back, hacking into his sleeve. "Why are you asking me, Dave? I wasn't the one who was cheating," he spits.

Something in you snaps at that. You  vaguely register your left eye twitching before you feel your fist connecting with something sharp.

You pull back and take a moment to collect yourself. Your knuckles have been cut open- fuck that hurts like a bitch, but you bear through it in favor of assessing John's condition down on the ground. He just crumpled like a piece of paper under the force of your blow.

He's on the floor, wheezing and coughing even worse than before. It takes a minute or so before it finally clicks that there's something seriously up.

"John? John shit man what's wrong?"

He continues coughing, almost like he's... Choking? You get behind him and desperately try to remember how to do the Heimlich. After a few tries, it seems to help- since instead of choking, John's gagging. You hope to whatever deity is up there that that is a good sign.

In that split second of hesitation, John stumbles out of your arms to collapse over the toilet. You follow him, grabbing the back of his collar to keep him from diving headfirst into the plumbing.

He retches into the toilet and you can only look on in horror as red streams from his mouth- and you're pretty sure that it isn't kool-aid.

Shitshitshit.

You keep one hand on him as your other hand goes to your phone, dialing 911.

It doesn't take long for them to respond; John is still gagging a bit by the time an operator answers. "911 please state yo-"

"Fuck shit get me the fucking paramedics my- my boyfriend is choking and it looks like blood and I-I don't know what to do I did the Heimlich and he was throwing up all this blood I just-"

"Sir! Please calm yourself. What is your current location?:

"Club Alternia! The bathrooms are at the back. It's at 612 Skaia Avenue."

"Okay sir. I've alerted the paramedics and an ambulance should be arriving at your location within the next ten or so minutes. In the mean time, please keep calm. Make sure the patient keeps breaking. Do you know CPR?"

"Yeah I do," you reply breathlessly.

John's done now and you've pulled him as tight against your chest as possible. It now hits you just how tired you actually are now. His breathing is quick and shallow but it's still there. Some blood splattered on his clothes, and they're completely ruined now. You bury your nose in his slightly damp hair and let out a sob, releasing your vice-like grip on the phone and letting it, and the operator still on the line, fall to the floor completely ignored.

You brush the hair from his face. He's sweating badly and you feel so

fucking

useless

right 

now. 

Why would you punch him? Idiot!

You decide to take his jacket off, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt. He's really burning up right now shit! Blinking back tears, you press a kiss to his forehead, "It's gonna be okay..." you murmur.

A few hours later you're in the hospital, waiting for the doctors to finish up with whatever the fuck they're doing to save John's life. They've been rushing in and out of his room for the past two or so hours. You've asked countless times what the everloving fuck was going on here, but they just nodded in your direction and ran off to do something while you're left in the dust. John's dad arrived about an hour after you and he seemed to know what was going on but his mouth was sealed in a fatherly frown, worried creases lining his forehead.

You click the lock button on your phone for the millionth time, impatiently tapping out an up-tempo rhythm with your feet.

…

It seems like forever but they finally let you see John. He's hooked up to tubes and wires leading to all sorts of machines and bags full of fluids.

You settle down in a chair beside him and Mr. Egbert does the same on the other side. The two of you sit by him through the night, waiting for any sign of John waking up. Sleep comes in short, troubled bursts and you're feeling awfully claustrophobic by the time early morning rolls around and Mr. Egbert taps you on the shoulder saying that he's going to get some food.

Resigning yourself to the fact that you're not going to get any more sleep, you watch John's face trying to look for any sign of him waking up. John looks so small and pale, not that he hasn't always been small and pale, but the John you used to know could lift you up no problem and bench 100+. This John looks like he could shatter into little pieces if you tapped his shoulder.

John's eyelids flutter when Mr. Egbert's slow, sad footsteps fade down the hall. You jump up, eyes widening. John slowly opens his eyes, their usual blue looking more grey and bloodshot than you've ever seen them which only emphasize the hollowness of his face and the dark circles around his eyes.

He looks around and sighs, settling his eyes on something else as they become hazy and half-lidded. You frown and nudge him with a bottle of water from the little bed tray. "John you want water?"

He doesn't respond.

"Your throat must feel like crap right now."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he cringes. A drop of blood makes its way down his dry and cracked lips. Then time freezes and suddenly you find yourself leaning forward to lick it away, pulling him into a kiss. It doesn't last long and soon enough John is pushing you away and you're absolutely disgusted at whatever it is that possessed you to kiss him.

"I'm sorr-"

"Leave."

His voice is sounds as cracked as his lips and you walk out of the room, placing the water bottle on his lap. "You need to drink."

You run into Mr. Egbert on your way down the hall and tell him that John's awake. His weary eyes widen and he rushes down the hall in a hurried pace. Not knowing what to do, you decide to take a walk.

By the time you return it's noon. You knock on the door and wait. There's muted talking from beyond the door and it feels like an eternity before the door opens to reveal Mr. Egbert. He pats you on the shoulder firmly, "Hello Dave. Please be patient with John. Just talk things out with him. I'll be getting food, okay?"

Walking in, you settle into the chair you slept in the night before. The air is thick with unsaid words and tension.

It takes a long time before you open your mouth: "You idiot.."

Wait wait that's wrong.

"What?"

"You idiot," you repeat. No wait- that's not what you wanted to say. "You jumped to the worst possible conclusion- like that time Jade wouldn't answer her phone and you thought she was dead?" Okay, whatever. What you're saying makes sense. Some part of you thinks that this is what you were suppressing for so long. What you weren't willing to think about, linger on too long because of the feelings it would bring. You'll just roll with it for now.

"...She just lost it.."

"Yeah."

It's quiet, the beeping of the machine the only thing keeping it from being completely silent.

"...What was it then?"

You don't reply right away, instead taking the time to readjust your arms around John, settling yourself onto your side so that you're facing each other. "I really was working." 

His brow furrows, lips forming into the adorable little pout you've always loved. "For what though?"

"To get out. Move to a quieter part of the city... Maybe settle down- adopt some baby Strider-Egberts.." you shrug nonchalantly, trailing off.

"Dave.. I-"

"Hey John?"

He cranes his head up a bit, making eye contact as you tilt your head at him. "Yeah?" his voice is a little too quiet and breathy for your taste.

"Marry me, will ya?"

He gasps, eyes widening. "I- I just-" he sputters for a moment before  "I'd love to." 

You sigh contentedly, "Great, man. We're making this happen."

"Yeah I guess we are!" he chuckles, fading into silence.

It's quiet again. It stays like that for a few minutes until you feel a warm spot on your shirt and hear a hiccup. Craning your head down, you see that John is crying. You wrap your arms around him, making shushing noises. "Hey, hey what's wrong?"

"I'm scared, Dave- I don't want to die."

You feel yourself tense up, but you press on, hugging him as tight as you dare to. "Hey, be quiet about that. Ytou're not going to die. You're going to grow up with me and we'll get married and raise a couple of kids to be weirdos like their dads, ship them off to college and turn into wrinkled up prunes together."

 John sighs, "I... That sounds nice."

You hum contentedly, easing your grip and bending down to press a kiss to his nose. 

"Dave?" 

"Yeah?"

"I'm tired. Will you sing me to sleep?"

"Sure John, anything you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> different parts of the last chapter were written months apart so uh yeah

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, you people finally get to read this horrendous mess of bad pacing and awkward dialogue and description. Eugh, not to mention out of character outbursts.
> 
> I'll post the second chapter up in a week at most- when I finish writing this completely.


End file.
